2 It Happened on the Fourth of July
by TheNewIdea
Summary: Being threatened by the Chief was the least of my worries. I've got bigger problems to deal with, namely stopping a serial killer from killing everyone that I've ever cared about. But I'm getting ahead of myself. All you need to know is that this story begins on the Fourth of July in a dirty motel room. Rated T for language, violence, sexual references, drugs and alcohol
1. Chapter 1

10:00pm

July 4th

Present Day

I can still remember it as if it happened yesterday. In fact, it did. Walking into Room 13 I found the scene to be more than a simple homicide case, more than another run of the mill, every day thing. While everyone else was sitting at home watching fireworks, drinking beer and eating fair food, I was stuck at work and that's something I'm not entirely proud of.

Joe Swanson, who was first reporting on the scene, walked over to me as soon as I arrived. I was surprised that Joe came, for he usually requests holidays off to spend time with Bonnie and Susie.

"What have we got?" I asked, wanting to know details, skipping the formalities to save time.

Joe nodded in understanding and simply cut right to the chase.

"The victim is Marcus Johnson, 27 years old" Joe began, "A recent tenant of Herbert's boarding house on the corner of Spooner Street."

I knew the boarding house well; why Marcus was here in at the motel when he had a room down the street was a mystery to me, one I intended to solve. I motioned for Joe to continue as I began taking notes, making sure to get Marcus' name and basic information down. Joe sighed reluctantly, giving me more than I wanted to know and yet exactly what I needed to hear.

"Shot in the head with a close ranged weapon of some kind. Afterwards the body was dressed for it to appear to be suicide. Coroner Jacobs can give you more when he finishes the autopsy."

"Does Tyler know about this?" I asked, mentioning the department's forensic expert, Tyler Moore, who had become a recent acquaintance of mine.

"He'll be arriving shortly" Joe answered, "He's coming back from vacation, should be here within the hour."

I sighed, at the same time looking down at my watch; I didn't have the time to wait. My investigation would simply have to continue without him.

"Afraid I can't stay for long" I replied, "Previous engagement. Let me know what he finds."

Joe nodded in understanding and made his way outside to work the crowd.

I didn't even make it across the room when the Chief of Quahog Police, whose name escapes me at the moment, stopped me on his way out. The Chief was a portly man, now in his late 50's, who never seemed to shave his white mustache and always have an unlit cigar in his mouth as if he were waiting for someone with a lighter.

"Well if isn't Brian Griffin" the Chief exclaimed, less than welcomingly, "the guy who smoked all of our evidence away."

Great, so he remembered me.

"Evening sir" I answered, trying to avoid my previous brush with him, "I only wish it were under better circumstances."

The Chief huffed; it was good to see that his demeanor towards me didn't change. Now I'm no saint, believe me, but I'm certainly better now than I was then. Begrudgingly, the Chief led me around the room, stopping at the dresser in the right corner.

"The victim's clothes were found neatly in the dresser" the Chief explained, "Weren't even touched by the looks of things."

I stared at the open drawer and found nothing of particular interest. Still, despite what my eyes were telling me instinct was telling me something else. Putting on a latex glove to avoid fingerprints, I carefully made my way through the clothes- a green button up shirt, a pair of old blue jeans and two sets of boxers. I sniffed each one, finding nothing. The Chief rolled his eyes at my thoroughness, for obviously the clothes had already been searched by his response and simply continued to the side of the bed.

The Chief got on his stomach to look under the bed, wheezing in the effort.

"Get down here Griffin!" he barked, "I want you to see this."

I did as I was told and got down on the ground, taking off my fedora at the same time, placing on the floor next to me. If there was one thing I was careful about, it was my fedora. In a way, I saw myself as Indiana Jones, finding things that people often miss or overlook, it was a rejuvenating feeling. My one regret is that somewhere out there was a mother without a son on the Fourth of July.

Looking under the bed I found no evidence of any kind, the only thing I saw were dust mites and the occasional piece of useless paper.

"What do you see dog?" the Chief asked

I shrugged and gave the obvious and completely honest answer.

"Dust mites and bits of paper sir" I said, partially confused, "Why? Is there something?"

The Chief rolled his eyes and stood up, causing me to do the same.

"Use that nose of yours Griffin" the Chief continued, "Smell anything?"

I sniffed the air; it was dry and bitter like it was outside. Inhaling as deeply as I could, nose to the ground, I detected remnants of gasoline.

"Gasoline?" I exclaimed, still sniffing to be sure that I had it right.

The Chief nodded in agreement, "Exactly. We're beginning to see a pattern in the killings."

I shook my head in disbelief, "Killings?" I continued, "There have been others? Why wasn't I told about this?"

The Chief groaned, "Because PIs like you only bring trouble to situations like this" he replied, "Besides it was a police matter. We handle our cases with our own people. It's shitheads like you who think they can do our job that make us look bad and ruin crime scenes."

Personally if that was his personal opinion then why did he even bother letting me in and showing me the crime scene in detail? I guess because he knew that I was the only person who actually gave a shit at this point and wasn't merely following orders to go home.

"But now...it's bigger than us"

Bingo, we have a winner

"Moore believes we're dealing with a serial killer" The Chief said sternly, "There have been three other murders,all of them young African American males in run down abandoned places. The floors are covered with gasoline, the body tied to the bed with the sheets-"

The Chief motioned towards the body, gesturing at the hands and feet, both of which were tied with white bed sheets. Nonchalantly I gave my nose a gracious whiff of the bed, hoping to find something significant, the only thing I found was the obvious fact that the body had been there for hours, if the coroner didn't get here soon the whole motel would smell like a corpse, something that I was sure the owner didn't want.

"Do you think it's a hate crime?" I pressed, hoping that the Chief would be reasonable and give me something to go on.

"We've already swept that angle" The Chief declared, "There are plenty of Klan members in the area but they all gave solid alibis, we had no choice but to rule them out."

I made some quick notes in my notebook, giving a personal note to check the hate crime angle again, for a second pair of eyes and ears never seemed to hurt. The Chief sucked on his cigar, he had obviously forgotten that it wasn't lit. Rolling his eyes in annoyance and silently cursing the world, the Chief continued his tour of the room; he had finally gotten to the body.

The only thing Marcus had on were a pair of boxer briefs. In the face he reminded me of Chris, only he wasn't fat and had black hair with bits of grey in between. Why a twenty seven year old would have grey hair is another mystery, this one I was personally willing to let go, I could care less about a person's hair color. I can only assume that it either ran in the family or Marcus' life was a living hell and he was better off. Blood was all over the pillow, all over the guy's head too. I looked at the chest and saw several knife wounds, none of them appeared to be fatal.

I stared at my watch a second time; I was beginning to think that I wasn't like the others, that maybe I really was just following orders to get home as fast as humanly possible. In my heart I'd like to think differently, but I knew the truth.

"Look Chief" I said hurriedly, "I'd really love to stay and go over this but I really got to go. Places to see, things to do, you know how things are."

The Chief shook his head annoyingly and groaned, "This is a police matter Brian" he warned, "I catch you near this case I'm bringing you in for trespassing on a crime scene and tampering with evidence. You understand me? Joe won't be around to vouch for you forever!"

There was something about the way he said the last line that got me thinking, at the time I merely passed it off as an empty threat. Nevertheless I made my way out of the room, said goodbye to Joe and met Peter out in the parking lot across the street where gawkers could still be seen gathering trying to get a glimpse of whatever they thought was going on.

"What's up Brian?" Peter asked as I walked up to the car, both of which smelled like beer.

"You don't even want to know Peter" I answered, "Besides I've had a long day and I'm not about to make it even longer reliving details."

Peter huffed annoyingly, "Alright Killer, take it easy, was only asking."

"Maybe you shouldn't be asking" I continued, starting to sound like the Chief, "Maybe you should mind your own damn business, you'll live longer."

Looking back I knew that I was being harsh, but for good reason. I knew that if any of the family got involved it would complicate things more than necessary, not to mention put their lives in danger.

"Wanna go to the Clam?" Peter offered after we had sat in silence for a few minutes, giving me enough time to calm down.

"Peter the only thing I want is to go home" I answered, exhaustion clearly showing in my voice, all thoughts completely shoved out of my mind in favor of sleep, which I hadn't had in three straight days.

Peter shrugged indifferently as I laid my head down on the back of the seat, trying to catch what sleep I could before we reached home. Waking up five minutes later and walking to the door like a zombie I fished out my keys only for them to fall to the ground into the recently added rock bed next to the porch Lois added to make the house more appealing.

"Damn" I said to no one in particular, "Peter can you help-?"

No sooner had I said those words did Peter back out of the driveway and make his way down the street, heading towards the Clam to drink with Quagmire. Too exhausted to stoop down and actually look for the keys, I resigned myself to the porch and uncomfortably curled myself up in as tight a ball as I could make. I hoped that someone would be kind enough to open the door, one look in the windows told me that everyone was asleep, so knocking was pointless and rude. Besides, it wasn't like I was desperate or anything, I had other options, I just didn't want to take them.

Thankfully, Joe pulled up in his driveway minutes later. Running over I didn't even have to explain myself for Joe to welcome me inside.

"Thanks Joe" I declared as I shook myself off entering the living room, "You're a life saver!"

Joe laughed, it was one of those laughs that told me it was no big deal, in reality I knew it was, for this had happened one too many times.

"It's the least I can do for my favorite PI" Joe answered as he closed the door, taking off his hat and hanging it on the coat rack next to the door at the same time.

Sitting on the couch I looked around, Joe and Bonnie had recently installed a new fireplace in the front of the living room, to my dismay there was no fire, which would have been a welcome sight.

"Nice fireplace" I added, "What, did you get that as Christmas present for yourself?"

Joe nodded, "Sure did. Used the money I got from that raise. We're fixing the place to get ready for the move."

I raised my ears worriedly, for this was the first time that I heard about any such move. It scared me to tell you the truth, especially with a possible serial killer running around Quahog and the Chief threatening me. I didn't care how idle the threats were, it was still nice to know that at least one cop liked me.

Joe laughed again, this time it was warmer. "Don't worry Brian" he said reassuringly, "I'm not going anywhere any time soon. Not until we catch this son of a bitch."

A firework went off down the street; apparently the celebrations were still going on. I stared at a clock above the fireplace, it had just turned 11:00, about the time that things started winding down, when normal people who valued sleep declared Fourth of July officially over.

"How long do you think it'll go on this year?" I asked, trying to change the subject

It took Joe a few seconds to realize what I was talking about; when he figured it out he shrugged and lifted his hands in the air, signifying that he didn't really care. As Joe made his way to the bedroom, he threw a blanket and an old pillow my way. Placing the fedora and the tie on a coffee table I carefully situated myself as comfortably as I could on the couch. It wasn't the best sleep I ever had, but it was still sleep and that was a blessing in itself.


	2. Chapter 2

After a restless night, I somehow managed to drag myself back home to get ready for work at 7 am. I was dismayed to find that not only was I still locked out, for I had forgotten what had sent me to Joe's in the first place, but also I had left what was perhaps the most important part of my job in my small desk downstairs in the basement.

"Great" I said to no one in particular, "This couldn't get any worse. As soon as Lois goes down to do her daily laundry she'll see it, get curious and-"

I stopped, if there was one thing I couldn't do, it was to allow myself to think that way. Paranoia is something that I can't afford to have; one of the many requirements of being a PI is being calm and collected in all situations in order to solve the problem. After reminding of this, by doing the only thing that can calm me down, chasing my own tail, I proceeded to take action and began climbing the drain pipe to Stewie's window.

It was only after I had reached the window that I thought about looking for the keys in the rock garden, which would have been what any logical, calm and collected person would do in my current situation. Nevertheless I had decided to go through with opening the window, a task that was extremely difficult to do with one hand, only to land in Stewie's room on a pile of discarded Legos, which if you anything about Legos, is the most uncomfortable feeling known to man. It is easily number three on the worst things that I've ever experienced to date, number one being countless heartbreak and failure with women and number two being shot on various occasions.

"Damn it" I exclaimed as I held my foot in pain, "When is this kid ever going to learn? Pick up your shit and I won't throw a fit."

Yes, I know it's a dumb saying, one that I don't use, ever. But given the circumstances and the fact that I was well within Stewie's earshot, who I knew to be a light sleeper and Lois' new rule on cursing, I had little choice in the matter.

As I navigated Stewie's room, which was covered in stuffed animals, dolls and coloring books, I quietly passed Stewie's bed, inching my way ever so slowly to the door. Just as I reached the threshold, I felt a wet hand grab my shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice, obviously Stewie's, asked.

"None of your business" I answered, turning around at the same time, "And why is your hand wet?"

Stewie, who was dressed in blue polka pajamas with feet, let off my shoulder and carefully examined his hand. He only smiled at it and shook his head, as he gestured to a cup of water on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

"Experimenting" Stewie answered, "You know the old water in the hand trick?"

I nodded if nothing else to humor him, for I had little time for games. Lois would up within the next ten minutes to start her routine; I needed to get down to the basement.

"Well I wanted to try it out on Chris, but the fat ass locked himself in his room, so I went to the next best thing, the Fat-Man! Then Lois kicked me out for staying up too late and "playing with water" as she so puts it. Personally I think she was just being a bitch..."

Stewie is one of those people who never know when to shut up, he is also a big morning person, today being Saturday and thus Stewie having no real reason to get up other than to be incredibly annoying.

"Speaking of which" Stewie continued, "What exactly is a bitch?"

Stewie also asked questions that he already knew the answer to, also in an effort to be incredibly annoying. There were in fact, two answers to his question in the context he was using it in. one scientific, a female dog, and the other, a person, stereotypically a woman, who whines excessively. I've told him this, numerous times; why it didn't sink in I haven't the slightest idea.

"Stewie" I said sternly, "As much as I would love to go over with you what constitutes as a bitch and what does not, I really don't have time."

Stewie huffed, "And why is that?" he pressed, "What could you possibly be doing at 7 o clock in the morning on a Saturday?"

I didn't even bother to answer, my paranoia was beginning to set in, causing me to bolt from Stewie's room and jump down the stairs, hitting the wall at the bottom of the stairs head on and breaking my nose in the process. Standing up and limping down the rest of the stairs into the living room which remained relatively unchanged, and finally made it to the basement door on the other side of the room just before the kitchen.

The basement was, understandably, dark. Neglecting to turn on the light, lest I risk being discovered, step by step I made my decent. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and my feet hit the cold concrete, I noticed that the basement was covered in dust mites and a considerable amount of cobwebs. My guess is that Lois didn't bother housekeeping down here, the only places that were relatively clean was the laundry area, right in front of the stairs, and my desk, which I kept hidden behind the staircase away from wandering eyes.

Now you're probably wondering why all this secrecy is involved, unfortunately that is a story that is too long for me to tell at the moment, so I will give you the abridged version.

The simple truth is that the Griffin's don't know that I'm a PI. They believe that I am an investigative journalist who was assigned to cover the inside workings of the police department. Understandably they were suspicious at first, but as soon as they saw me with Joe, there wasn't a doubt in their minds that's what I was. I'm not proud of it, I don't like lying, but if it means keeping the family safe, it is something that I have to do and do often.

Looking at the desk, which was covered in various piles of paperwork, all from jobs that I have taken since I started this profession, I noticed that I had haphazardly left evidence in an open Ziploc bag on a shelf that I rarely used. The evidence was from a case involving two lovers, it was your typical scenario. The girl believed that the guy was cheating on her, and the guy believed that she was cheating on him. Both of them paid me considerable sums to get proof, both of which I took without telling either one about the other. It turned out in the end that lovers remained faithful to each other and I got double the pay.

Closing the Ziploc bag and throwing it in the trash can that I kept below my desk, I began clearing real estate. Once this was done I pulled out a small sliver key that I kept inside of my collar and opened the top drawer to the desk, fishing out a loaded 9 mm handgun, a Swiss Army knife, a digital camera and official ID badges for the Quahog's Police, Fire and National Guard departments. Is it lying? Yes. Is it illegal? Yes it is. Do I care? Of course I do.

I often ask myself why I do the things that I do, if what I'm doing is the smart and ethical thing. Allow me, if you will, to ask my own question. There is a difference between doing the right thing and doing the smart thing. In the scheme of things, ethics is of little importance. Does it hurt? You bet it does, but is it worth it in the end? That all depends on where you think you're going. For me, it makes for a clearer head.

Strapping the gun to my hip and gathering up the false credentials and placing them in a small binder, I carefully examined my notes from the crime scene. The first rule in being a PI is to always look back at your notes.

_Marcus Johnson, 27, African American with a medium build. Shot in the head at point blank range with numerous stab wounds in the torso area. Check with Moore and Jacobson for further information._

Opening the second drawer, blowing off the small plane of dust that had gathered inside, I came across an old picture that I hadn't seen in years.

It was me and my partner in crime, Vincent, or Vinny, as he liked to be called. An Italian pussyhound from Brooklyn who moved here to live a simpler life with simpler pleasures in mind, Vinny found out rather quickly that life in Quahog was anything but simple, especially with Peter Griffin in the neighborhood. As far as the picture went, it was simple. I wouldn't say humble, for we weren't exactly humble holding half finished martinis and sarcastically tipped fedoras as if we owned the place, we were standing on Quahog Pier, just having completed the biggest case of our careers.

I can still remember what he said to me, just before he left for good.

"Here's to the losers, bless them all."

After that, he finished his martini and walked away with an open palm and Frank Sinatra in his head. Two days later, in an attempt to stop a bar fight, Vinny would get a knife in his stomach, dying on the scene in a pool of his own blood. I cried like a baby that night. To this day I've never had another partner like him and I suppose I never will.

Lois came down the staircase, right on time. Closing the door and donning a rain coat to hide the gun, I carefully closed the drawers, making sure to lock the first one. I looked over the desk, the IDs were still scattered about, in a panic I did the only thing I could do and threw them in the trash, I could always clean them later.

"Hey Brian" Lois said as she made her way towards the washer, "What are you doing down here?"

I shrugged and slowly made my way towards the stairs, using the cover of darkness to my advantage.

"Nothing" I answered quickly, "Just going over some old photos. I want to remember things while I can Lois, never know when dementia might hit with me, being a dog and everything."

Lois huffed and shook her head, "You worry too much Brian" she continued, "Besides it's not like we're going to throw you in a home. We'll just put you down!"

Great, because that just what I needed to hear right now. Thanks Lois, you're the pillar of human decency and standards that people should strive to uphold in an effort to better themselves. You just won the Noble Prize of Bitchery, let's give Lois a big hand everyone.

"Ha ha" I exclaimed uncomfortably, "That's a good one Lois. Real good, remind me to put that in the Joke Book. Anyway, I best be going. People to see, places to go, that kind of thing...I'm sure you understand."

Lois nodded as she turned on the light; I was already on the third step at this point.

"Just don't stay out too late Brian" she warned, "It's getting pretty rough out there."

You're preaching to the choir.

I made my way upstairs and into the living room without incident. Peter, Chris and Meg weren't up yet and Lois wouldn't check up on Stewie for another twenty minutes, which gave me plenty of time to slip out of the house virtually unnoticed. Walking outside I looked at the driveway and noticed that there was only one car, the red sedan. My car, the Prius, had been in the shop for the past three days. Crashing into a lake while being chased by a shotgun toting jealous husband while you've got money in your pocket from his wife to gather evidence about his drug trafficking will get you hospitalized and your car in the shop. I had to tell a pretty convincing lie to keep my job a secret with the family, a situation that I don't want to repeat any time soon.

Having no choice but to walk I headed straight for the office, which was halfway between the police station and the news station on a lonely side street that no one paid any mind to.


End file.
